29 Sep 2011

"Chodya Chinnam"

Two questions for you all today:

1) When you hate despise someone for their behavior and they do something nice, like get a prize or write a really good story or something, do you appreciate them? Or is it petty of you to give them the Royal Ignore for they hurt got to you that bad.
Do you be the bigger person (fat lot of good THAT does to you) and tell that that what they did was good or do you just let it slide by for either way, it's not going to make a difference in either your life or theirs; just the satisfaction of having given a heart-felt compliment and made them feel good for a second.
What do you do?

2) When you are about to do something that you are not sure of, what do you do to convince yourself? Or do you just not do it.
Note: The pros and cons have already be weighed and the former are wayyyy more than the latter; this is just to get rid of that nagging feeling.

Answer these un-philosophically for me? Please?

P.S: "Chodya chinnam" is Malayalam for question mark.
P.P.S: I'm off to bed at TEN frikkin' P.M for I haven't slept in two days. Reason? I was too busy watching Fringe and Russell Peters: The Green Card Tour. If you haven't, go download now. Both.

28 Sep 2011

Of Us, Women

Not to be a big, fat joy-kill but I try to look at things from both POV's.
And since we have all turned into a feminist lot suddenly and the poor(?) men are left wondering what hit them, I thought I'd help them out a bit and list out how women can be major pains in the tushy.
Lets be fair for a minute, shall we?

(I'll list out only those things which I can vouch for in person and from people around for I have no right to generalize)
1) We are a manipulative lot.

While this is not a bad thing for we have our fathers wrapped around our little finger and we mean it with all the love in the world, there are women I know who are SO bloody good at mind-fucking men so bad that they are left wondering which way is up. Right from making decisions seem like the guy's idea in the first place to getting things done with tears and tantrums.

2) We over-analyse.
For decades, research has be shoved in our faces saying men are made differently from us. Why don't we just accept that? No. We have to take every single action, psycho-analyze it and make it out that they don't love us or respect us or some indepth feeling that he doesn't even know to name.

3) We are bitches. Sometimes.

We take him shopping when we KNOW he detests it AND make him carry our bags. We complain about the time he spends with his friends no matter how many sweet gestures he makes for us. We tell our bffs all about the relationship and rail at him when he mentions one teeny detail to his buddy. We whine and complain and nag and then wonder why he lost interest.

4) We are hypocrites.
We stare at good-looking guys, talk about their ass being sculpted, swoon all over them, indulge in locker-room talk with our girls, bat our lashes at random guys, enjoy the attention showered on a girls' night out (do not even begin denying any of this). Yet when we find one single text on his phone from his colleague (about WORK), we start having 'trust issues' and raise hell in his life and ours.
We willingly lose it to him and later complain he forced us.
We tell him that we love him just the way he is and ask him to change the way he behaves.
We dress up like sluts and blame him for staring. He's a guy, he's made that way, there's no way we can change than. So if we don't want him to stare the lets cover ourselves up and be modern in a decent way. THEN he stares, break his bones. I'll help.

5) We are irrational and we generalize too much.
Men don't understand PMS and yet the ones who love us try. Half a brownie point.

Lets not overdo it unless he behaves like a prick back to us.
Just because one guy is a blasted pervert doesn't mean all of them are. Maybe they are, but there are gentlemen who never make it known. There are. Still. Lets not lose faith in entire mankind.

Men will be men. It's up to us to make them meet us somewhere in the middle on common ground for love them or hate them, we can't live without them. Even Shahana says so in the end.

All this said, I also add that most men are jackasses who don't realize that without women their world would be full of dostana, beer and crude jokes.
No warm bodies to curl up with, no one to cook for, no one to assert your masculinity to, none to be macho for.
You exist because we do. You are happy because we make you happy.
Love us the way we love you.
Learn some respect, treat us the way you would your mother, your sister and your wife for we are all those to somebody.
Red says all this better than I do. Go read.

27 Sep 2011

An Ode To A Family


Have you ever experienced the feeling of completeness that a family can give you?

You know the part twenty five years after happily-ever-after? The part that they don'y show in movies or write about in stories?
That's the part when you know that a man and a woman a gentleman and a lady have taken the life that God destined for them and made it a success, a life that they can be proud of having lived, the beautiful family that they made from scratch.

I have had the opportunity to be a teeny part of this family or rather I have adopted myself into theirs.
(In case you're still lost, I went to my bff's place for the weekend and it's their family that I'm talking about)

I love the way they have made it happen, love the way they bound together bits of yarn, wool and all things nice to make their little world cozy. It's not perfect and they don't pretend that it is and maybe that, the fact that they live for themselves for each other, is what makes them so *searching for the right word, none seem to be enough*.

The Father is everything you think of when the word comes to your mind. Responsible, solid, dependable, a wee bit intimidating, honest, respected in every sense of the word, fun, loving, caring beyond all else, typically grumpy when sick, supportive, witty, quietly proud of his daughters, provides guidance not advice... and so very much more. I respected him much before I even met him; it only grew. He is the foundation for their worlds, everything begins from him.
And I keep wondering what he thinks about me, if I measure anywhere near the high standards he's set for his daughters.

The Mother is a copy of mine. Ditto except mine is slightly more harum-scarum and she's slightly more Malayalised. This itself is my greatest tribute to her for my mom is, like, the ultimate to me.
And she treats me no different from her daughter; I say this not because she said it to me (she didn't) but because I can feel it. I can feel it in the way she holds me by my waist and talks to me. Apart from all that, sensible, iron-willed, AWESOME cook (I put on two kilos in as many days, you can imagine), organised, careful, pious, squeaky-clean, ordered are words that do their best to describe her but still fail a little bit.

Sisters to match, a paired set who are complete opposites to each other and beautifully accomplished in their own way but very much a part of the parents. And a muthashi (grandma), who is cute and fluffy and is a vast treasure trove of surprises, stories and tradition.

They have their own ways of dealing with problems, with life, with social situations. They are a unit, a tribe unto themselves.
They are stable.
They have deep-rooted value systems, beliefs that are the DNA of who they are.
They respect. They care. They follow the rules and make some for themselves.
They teach their children. By example.

They are a family.

I haven't done them justice, not even close.
But I'm glad they let messy, scatter-brained me into their lives, even for a weekend.
And if my own family, one that I'll start sometime in the future, is even half as beautiful as this one and mine, then I'll count myself lucky.


25 Sep 2011

I'm busy...

...doing this,

and eating this...

Courtesy: Radhi: Any more information on what it is will be provided upon request


Will be back tomorrow with a decent enough post.
How was your weekend?:)

P.S: I surprised myself with the amount of demureness and quietness I have in me.

22 Sep 2011


One person
He makes all the difference...

His presence can make your days
 Dreamy and light
And full of hope for that beautiful future you envision all day...

He can make you smile
Even through the sniffling sobs
When that great oaf of a teacher 
Made you cry...

 His warm hands holding yours safe
Making you trust him
All that much more... 

His twinkling eyes
Ones that he listens to your rants with,
Makes you think he's laughing at you
Until he starts ranting against them
With you...

The husky, entirely male smell
Sends tingles through your being
Of unspoken promises yet to be fulfilled...

The way he looks up from his game
Just to look at you cross the room
Like he's never seen a sexier woman
And still manages to make you feel like a lady

His one breath
takes away your breath
His one look 
Sets you on fire...

His eyes that can look into your very soul, 
Sends messages from across the room
Making you feel
Like it's only you and him there..

His gentle touch that kisses your cheek
Assures you more than his non-expressive words.
The same callused hand that is raised against
That ass in the theater who dared look at you...

His attempts to surprise you senseless
With that straggly kitten
All tied up with a bow
His attempts that make you smile
From the depths of your wee li'l heart...

And his absence?
 Sucks the life out of life,
The thrill out of thrill,
The love out of love,
And the joy out of joy.

Same P.S: I do not intend to scare you with my horrible poems, it wasn't intended to be one nor am I any good at making poems or making them rhyme; they are just random lines inspired by another attempt made on D.O.V:)
P.P.S: I'll be back with something better once I get out this dreary hostel and am tucked away safely in the most beautiful places in Kerala, my BFF's home (weekend trip.. YAY!!)
P.P.S.S: Whatcha think of the whole noo' look??:)

18 Sep 2011

When The Dust Settles...

You know that period when all the initial excitement in a relationship has faded?
You are past bending over backwards for his every little need, you get over daydreaming of various scenarios of the future, you get over marveling the way his melting brown eyes seem to twinkle at one of your inside jokes?
When he’s done wearing crisp shirts and reverts back to his grunge look, when he’s past centering you in his world and starts becoming vague during one of your endless yakking sessions?
The seemingly endless hours on the phone starts dwindling to just an hour at night?

That’s when the real mettle of the relationship is tested.

You feel he’s changed.
Earlier all he needed was you. Now he’s finding a way to balance his social life with you. Earlier he used to be supportive of every little thing you do, even painting your nails black. Now he questions the sanity of getting that fourth piercing you always wanted. Earlier he never felt the need to talk to other girls, not even friends. Now he justifies his need to have female friends just as you do.
Earlier he loved every dress you put on, his eyes shone when you twirl around after spending hours dressing up for him.

 Now you neither feel the need to dress up nor does he notice.

Masks come off.
Faults become apparent, ones that you previously saw but conveniently chose to ignore.
Fights become the order of the day. Not the cute ones, the ones where you ‘roothify’ and he ‘manaofies’. The real, bitter fights.
Monotonous patterns of conversations set in.
Egos start clashing.

Somewhere between all the name-calling, crying, hating and tentative making up, you reach a point where you question the meaning of your relationship.

You drag on with all the doubts in your head, first trying to recapture the magic swearing to yourself that it’s just a phase and you’ll get over the rough patch, later resign to the fact that it’ll never be the same again.

You wonder what you are doing wrong. What he’s doing wrong.

Then one chilly day, your world is knocked over. You are rudely awakened to the fact that your world is not cozy and all people are not angels like you believe them to be. You get the worst end of a crappy deal, you lose friends and your family very nearly disowns you. You realize that pain can sap the life out of you, that you can feel your insides dying slowly.

You go through the worst nightmare of your life and come out the other end, fragile and shaken to your very roots.

He sees you at your worst, sees you make mistakes and stumble, sees you broken and curled up into a tight ball of hurt and he stood by, holding you, saying nothing. 

You gave him the option of walking away, he chose not to take it.
Instead he stuck like a burr to your side.

And you realize that the only hand that held on tight to yours and never let go, was his. The only shoulder you leant in on without having to worry about betrayal, was his. The only person who even listened to what you had to say, was him. The only one who defended you, like a tiger protecting his pride from the hyenas, was him.

And he says, we’ll get through this. We will.
Not ‘you’. But ‘we’.

That’s when you know that it’s not the rosy tinted glasses and the eternally mushy blog posts that make up love. It’s not the sweet-nothings or the wild want that makes up love. It’s not the talking on the phone 24x7 and knowing where the other is all the time that makes up love. It’s not even the frequent ‘I love you’s’, the diminishing numbers of which had you worried. 
Nope, all that might be part of what makes it beautiful but it's most certainly not love.

Love is that when you know it’s much more.
Love is when you go through fire and emerge as two halves of a whole.

P.S: I'm not going through any dark pain, unless you count a nagging headache and this is not my personal story or anything:P This was supposed to be a mushy love story, just ended up veering a bit to the dark side.

A Song And A Sunday

I don't usually make it a practice to post lyrics but this one, Bruno Mars wrote for me. 

Written for my Sundays. 

Written for how much I love the feeling of a full 24 hours of absolute laziness, justified inertia. 

The one single day when my alarm clock decided to shut it's bloody trap and let me snuggle into my toasty comforter and drift back to sleep (the love of my life) to the music of morning rain.
The half-asleep trek upto the night canteen at 11 am when stomachs are rumbling desperately, only to be rewarded with steaming mugs of coffee and the crisp crunch of green Lays as the cloudy mountains guard our blasphemous conversations.

The breakfast at one p.m, the marathon movie/soap sessions, the walking around aimlessly, the bath at seven p.m. 
A day I can forget entirely about classes, life, work, assignments, responsibilities, being proper, political correctness.
A day I can forget about the GODDAMN logbook.

An entire day spent in the exclusive company of the one person I've had the longest relationship with, my bed.

Nothing like it. Nothing ever.

Dedicated to my fellow lazies.

Today I don't feel like doing anything
I just wanna lay in my bed
Don't feel like picking up my phone, 
so leave a message at the tone
'Cause today I swear I'm not doing anything

I'm gonna kick my feet up then stare at the fan
Turn the TV on, throw my hand in my pants
Nobody's gon' tell me I can't

I'll be lounging on the couch just chilling in my Snuggie
Click to MTV so they can teach me how to dougie
'Cause in my castle I'm the freaking man

Oh yes, I said it, I said it
I said it 'cause I can

Tomorrow I'll wake up, do some P90X
Find a really nice girl, have some really nice sex
And she's gonna scream out
This is great
(Oh my god, this is great)

Yeah, I might mess around
And get my college degree
I bet my old man will be so proud of me
But sorry pops, you'll just have to wait

No, I ain't gonna comb my hair
'Cause I ain't going anywhere

I'll just strut in my birthday suit
And let everything hang loose
'Cause today I swear I'm not doing anything
Nothing at all.
(edited version, original from elyrics)

And then Monday looms large -_-

Have a lazy weekend, peepuls.
P.S: The Dragon In The Skin Of A Goat has made MY weekend with all her praise:) To all shoe-fanatics, check out her shoe-post:)
P.P.S: All those who shudder at mush, stay clear of my next post. EXTREME doses of mush ahead.
P.P.S.S: Thank you Sowmya, Serendipity, and Aasiyah for loving me enough to award me. A post about that in the making:) And my apologies to the former two for the delay. 

16 Sep 2011

Moments (Part II)

Have you met my extended family?

Shaina - The Angel
She walks around with the most apologetic face, a very fussy eater and the founder of the Sheaba-Haters Club.

Sheaba - The Actual Dog
The only one which exhibits dog-like attributes, guards the house and is a perfect working Mom. Loves coconut.

Sharuk - The Spoilt Brat
The self-proclaimed King of the brood, has a lazier butt than me and doesn't like eating anything but Pedigree. But fluffy as hell.

Shania and Sasha - Our Babies
They are Katrina and Irene rolled into one. Firm believers in destroying annihilating everything they can get their pearly whites on. Beautiful, fun and awesomely puppy-ish. They don't like their mother (Sheaba) much  and their father (Sharuk) doesn't like THEM much (because they cramp his style). Love coconut, grass and chocolate;) And love my sister more than me.

So whaddya think?
Ain't they the cutest things ever?
And they don't smell either:P

P.S: I had NOTHING, not even remotely, to do with their names.

14 Sep 2011

The Saga Of Smells

My roommate calls me a dog.
Sometimes because she doesn't like me, sometimes because we have more dogs than human beings at home.

But mostly because I have a super-sensitive nose.
Meaning the sense of smell is hyper-important in my life.
So much so that I associate smells with memories, I find comfort in familiar smells, I smell every most things before I buy/eat/drink/use them.

For eg: While I'm walking to class, I can name almost every single perfume or deodorant that every passing person is wearing (or God forbid, not! Egh *making face*)
So you get the point.

Anyway, sitting in the night canteen, sipping coffee after a particularly horrible Monday, watching the clouds play oliche-kande (hide-and-seek) with the mountains, I made a list of smells I love, mentally, in order to restore a semblance of order in my mind (yes, that is one way, the other is talking to myself inside my head, wondering what you are doing reading a loon's blog yet?:P). Here I am putting it down for you guys to read, so you can confirm or deny my close resemblance to the canine family/identify with.

1) The smell of our night canteen (inter-mingled aromas of machine coffee, puffs, fresh Lays packets, cream buns and stuff)
2) The smell of new note paper (one reason I miss school because I buy all of one notebook a year in college).
3) The smell of freshly bathed dogs (the clinical soap smell with that not-THAT-dirty-anymore doggie whiff)

4) The smell of his tee (one that lulls me to sleep some nights)
5) Smells of people I love; each different and unique and a mix of their soaps, deos, creams and their natural fragrance all put together to help me lend comfort in my existence (Amma's, Indu's)
6) The smell of a plain bar of chocolate (it just sits there, smelling of something oh-so-wonderful and begging me to pick it up; I have gone bankrupt certain months spending so much on chocolate alone)

7) The smell of paint/freshly painted surfaces (you may think this is weird, trust me it gets worse)
8) The smells of petrol, naphthalene balls and Fevicol (specifically these; I get them in bottles/packets and keep smelling them till somebody knocks me on the head, gives me a lecture on narcotic substances & health and parts us)
9) The smell of the library (du-uh! tons and tons of old, weary books, what more can anyone possibly want?)

10) The smell of cold air (do NOT ask, there IS a scent)
11) The smell of tiny kitties (when they curl up against you and purr like they have an auto rickshaw inside their stomachs)
12) The smell of Johnson's baby powder and everybody who smell like it.
13) The smell of pavizhamalli in the night. I don't know what it's called in any other language.

14) The smell of fluffy rabbits and somber cows (closest I can get to Mother Earth, according to me)
15) The smell of old clothes from the attic.

These, apart from the usual smell of rain, freshly mowed grass, pillows, own room, food in a restaurant when I'm desperately hungry and... you see where I'm going?

But then, you can imagine how this particular habit (for lack of better word) of mine can quite easily turn into the worst thing that ever happened to me - think in terms of rotten fish, crowded buses at peak times, guys coming back from a very 'energetic' game, people who are allergic to water/regular baths, accumulated garbage in the street corner, four-day old milk left in the coffee mug over the weekend by a roomie who strongly believes in the art or procrastination and so on.

Am I a dog?

P.S: Reshmi Varma (of the bride fame) wanted me to tell the world (or my 150-odd followers) to know that she's growing up and cleaning her room ALL by herself:) Just saying.
P.P.S: I have a new header, should I wait till my blogoversary to put it up or change it in a coupla days.

10 Sep 2011

A Text Was All It Took For Me To Grow Up

Note to the unwise budding journalists of my class: I like being right. I love being right. I revel in being right. I consider being right my birthright. Now that we have established that, you have any more questions/statements/updates to make?

You know that moment?

The one in which something small happens to piss you off in a big way, like, in a instant?
The one that makes you go from 0 to 100 on a rage scale of 1-10?

Yep, that one when you literally want to kill somebody out of frustration, so much so that you can't find ways to express the rage.

I got a text recently which did that to me.

Here I was tralala-ing on my bed, thinking happy thoughts (about food, what else:P) and reveling in the freedom of a four-day weekend away from the nut-house that my college has turned into...
And BAM! along comes a text to ruin it all.
(Ok, it wasn't BAM exactly, more like a ting! that's my text tone. You get the point:|)

Anyhoo, along comes the text and it was like having a bucket of icy cold water WITH ice cubes to match dumped on me when I'm stretched out on a towel on a beach in Honolulu sipping on summer sangria, getting a nice even tan and basically minding my own business. 

I was hurt, mad, insulted and supremely pissed off for it was sent after I tried extending an olive branch.
To top it all off, the sender was a person I'd respected in spite of their intermittent immature behavior.

My instant reaction was to type out a reply, equally scathing with full intention of raping the recipient verbally (which is the one English-speaking related skill that serves me well) and have my honor restored while claiming revenge.

But then I paused.

This, my dear readers, occurs rarely never.
The impulsive, fiery fool that I am, I always look three hours after I leaped off the cliff and am lying sprawled face-down, Wile Coyote style.

But this time I paused.
And I reflected.
And I when did reply, it was decently. Calmly.

I realized that replying in the same tone of what I received would make me no different than the sender. I realized that I was brought up differently.

People have been asking me to grow up and be mature all the time .
I think I just did.

I am inordinately proud of myself for having exercised such awesome self-control, please let me go yadayada this once. I'll make it worth your while next time:P 
Have you gotten texts like that? How do you deal with it?

P.S: Yes, I'm venting. I have never been good with bottling it all inside and venting elsewhere will have disastrous consequences.
P.P.S: If I was confusing at any point, it was because I was trying to be diplomatic.
P.P.S.S: For people who wonder, I have no problems naming the sender but this post was about me growing up, so that part wasn't important enough.

9 Sep 2011

His Daughter

“No, that’s Aarathy. With two ‘a’s and a ‘y’ at the end. No. Yes. And I most definitely need it by tomorrow or I will have to cancel the order and hire someone else to do it on TIME, Mr. Rao.” I took a deep breath before turning to the mountain of work.

‘And what can I do for you, Sir?’ I asked without looking up. I let Mr. Polished-Woodlands talk to the top of my head while I filed all the pending papers. I was buried in work up to my nose and I just didn’t have the time to be my usual effervescent self. Let the guests deal with a grumpy Guest Relations Head this time, I thought.

While I was filing away to glory, I realized that the guy in front of me hadn’t spoken yet. My head snapped up, “Sir, do you…”

I froze.

He stood frozen too. Grey eyes stormy with some unknown emotion, his lips seemed to struggle to form words.

I tried to unchoke myself and failed. It was as if somebody had vacuumed all the words out of my head.

‘Hey, Aarathy,’ he managed.
‘How’s it going?’ In what I hoped was a nonchalant voice. But I had a strong suspicion that it sounded like a strangled chicken fighting for survival.
‘Good, good,’ he sounding a little lost himself.

And all the conversation makers in the world bid adieu and went on vacation.

‘So… ummm… what…’
‘Hey hon, did you find out?’ chirped in the woman in green linking her arm in his and looking enquiringly at me. I stared at him blankly for more reasons than one.

‘Erm… yeah. I was just asking… saying… about…’ he seemed uncomfortable.
With everything. The arm linking, the query he had, me…

‘Uffoo Addu, stop being embarrassed, it’s not that big a deal’ She turned to me and said conspiratorially, ‘Listen, the thing is, we were wondering if there’s any kind of activity that you can provide for our daughter while we, you know, spend some quality time together’ and winked. Adarsh shifted from one foot to another.

Now I just wished I’d been run over by the Dubai metro.

Addu. It’d been 8 years. Long ones. Since I last heard or said that name.
My memory had blocked out the part where his mother had flung the wedding invitation at me face and gone on to enumerate why I’d never ever be anywhere near good enough for her precious son.

Ah well, any guy who can’t stand up for the girl he loved wasn't worth spending time and tears over, I reasoned with myself. It had been my constant mantra, one that gotten me through the darkest days of my life.

But nonetheless, the pang that went through the very depths of my insides let me know that I was far from healed. The fact that jealousy shot through my stomach when she linked her arm with his again, flipped her pretty, long hair and looked at me enquiringly with a perfectly plucked eyebrow, only reaffirmed that my long lost love was anything but lost. A sense of hopeless loss spread through me and I struggled to regain control.

I looked at him; he hadn’t stopped looking at me, almost like he was drinking in the sight of me… like he had a hundred thousand questions to ask. I held his gaze for a second. And looked away.
He was married now.

‘Are you on your honeymoon, Madam?’ I sputtered out. And then kicked myself in the head.
‘Oh no, no’. She laughed. ‘Just a vacation of sorts. We are in room 122 booked under Mr. and Mrs. Unny. So… is there anything you can do?

‘There is the child care service, M’am. It’s complimentary actually. I’m surprised Sada didn’t tell you. Just register for it and leave your child with us.’

I was curious. His daughter.

I took out the forms with slightly shaky hands and started writing..

‘The child’s name, M’am?’
‘Aarathy. That’s with a double ‘a’ and a ‘y’ at the end.’
I raised my face to hers.
‘It’s his favorite name, you know.’ She smiled.

He looked away.
I stood there. Just stood there.

8 Sep 2011

Reasons for being MIA

I was too busy not studying for exams.
You know the wonderful way exams have for reminding you of work that has to be done without finishing which you just can't bear to start studying? Yeah. So I was catching up on the last season of Grey's Anatomy.
If you have any interests in sitcoms as a whole, I recommend strongly (I can't stress 'strongly' enough) that you download the last three episodes of season 6 of Grey's Anatomy and watch them. They are nothing short of amazing. The kind of amazing that you see very, very rarely. A little background for the uninitiated here.

Then I got my hands on a copy of The Immortals of Meluha. You know the way I have to finish a book in one sitting? Yeah. So that.

Then I got busy decimating flowers for Onam, staying up the whole night and making every single moment count. My last Onam in college and I get all weepy because whatever I do there is going to be the last. Yeah. So that as well.

Then somebody called me sensible. Beat that! Made my day, I tell you. There is at least one person in the world who thinks Priyanka Victor is sensible:P I mean, like, wow.
O.k so that's not a reason but how do you brag about being called sensible, decently :D

But I was mostly MIA because there is this trick that Reliance has. You know the way they cut the internet connection sometimes? Like when you, like an absolute jackass, forget to pay the bill? Yeah. So that too.

Anyway, so I missed FB (where people discovered that I am called Dinky too; yeah that's my pet-name. Yes. Lets start with the 'donkey' and 'dinkchika' jokes) and Blogger so much that I hugged my laptop when the connection came back on (after a very irate mother paid the bill) and told both that I missed them deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees much.
I'm sorry if I haven't commented on your blogs, Ai yam the back now to make you listen to my pointless blahs :D

And calling out to all the girls who don't shudder at being girly sometimes, check out Darlings of Venus. The awesomeness of the writers (I don't include myself:P) itself makes this baby amazing:) Contribute and help us grow. Lets be girls together.

I have a story scheduled for posting tomorrow since I'll be busy fainting from payasam overdose.
For all my Malayalee readers, my hrudayam niranja onashamsagal (to those who couldn't make sense of that, happy onam).

Our Pookalam
For all my not-so-Malayalee readers, look up Onam and you'll be treated to the best flower carpets (like the above picture) ever. And treat yourselves to a ready-made sadya (lunch) as well, just for the heck of it (if you get lost in the process, here's a generalised 'how to')

Miss me, anyone? No? Damn.

1 Sep 2011

The Month That Was.. August

August was a bitter chocolate chip cookie – bit into bitter pieces here and there but didn’t deter me from enjoying the cookie.

Anna Hazare dominated everyone’s lives (atleast mine) and the news as well. Independence Day just reminded me of how my country is going to the dogs, yet again. Didn't stop me from being inordinately proud of her though.

A full-of-birthdays month. I didn't get the first birthday cake :|I hold a grudge.

And started calling everybody 'the mantal bwoy'. 

A much awaited anniversary day, which was forgotten by who was supposed to remember, quickly became one of my Top Ten Favorite Moments in Life. The temporary amnesia was forgiven and forgotten (which is rare considering I'm an Arian).

A mostly important birthday came. And went. I wished and I didn’t get acknowledged. And that was the end of whatever little relationship there was.

Yet another realization:


Ragged a few juniors. Reminisced about how we came in the first year.
Gokulastami happened. And I fell in love with my own sari. Maybe they aren’t that bad after all.

I yearned for some good food and took out all my frustration on my blog. And instantly felt guilty for all the Muslims were fasting. I felt mean. 
Craved a Choco Lash Krusher from KFC for the whole month, one that was fulfilled by Mum yesterday. Twice over.

Found out MSM's real name:) So very pretty, it is <3
And promised myself I would stop writing such loooong posts.
And promised myself that I would stop procrastinating writing down the stories in my head. Again.

And my tattoo obsession is growing.
How do you write 'peace' in Arabic or Urdu?

And I wrote a quote, first ever:
“If you were single when I met you. Or if I were single when you met me.
Maybe things would have been different.
A story that ended before it even started.”
What d’ya think?
Oh and September, how YOU doin’?

P.S: Eid Mubarak and Ganesh Chaturthi ki shubhkaamnayein. Festivals come in tandem; maybe we should celebrate them together as well?
P.P.S: Anybody willing to teach me Urdu? A little bit will do.
P.P.S.S: Do check out this story. DO.